by Terry Grosz
Adam York, from lying in his sleeping furs having been up all night as one of the camp guards, shot the next Indian in line on horseback from his sleeping position and out through the end of his lean-to, blowing him clean off his horse and onto the ground in a crumpled, lifeless pile!
Jim Tweedle, getting late into the fracas, shot one Indian off his charging horse and was so close to him, that he was felled and knocked out cold by the Indian’s falling body right on top of him!
Andrew York, running out from his lean-to with his rifle in hand, was run over by another hard-charging Indian’s horse and knocked asunder. But not knocked out, as he drew his pistol since his rifle had been knocked from his hands, and shot another Indian riding by who was trying to ride over Iron Hand from behind!
Another Indian running into the trappers’ camp on foot with an upraised tomahawk heading for White Eagle to kill him was shot in the head by Arnold York from just two feet away! When the musket ball struck that Indian’s head, his brains were splattered all over a surprised White Eagle, who was still trying to reload his pistol!
A large-in-size Indian racing his horse into camp, was slowed by having another Indian’s riderless horse run in front of him in panic and in so doing, was swept off his horse by Iron Hand violently swinging his now empty Hawken’s heavy barrel into that Indian’s mid-section! That hefty blow swept that hard-charging Indian clear off his horse and threw him into the still-roaring campfire. When he fell, that Indian impaled himself on one of the vertical cooking stakes! That Indian screaming in pain over the hot metal cooking post now piercing through his mid-section and stoutly holding him in place with his flesh steaming and burning in the campfire, had his screams cut short when Iron Hand stepped forward, reached in and broke his neck with a quick and violent twist of the dying man’s head!
Two more Indians trying to cut the tie ropes on a string of horses so they could be run off and captured, were both cut down simultaneously by two quick rifle shots being fired by Arnold and Adam York with their pistols at such close range that both Indians had parts of their bodies flung over the rest of that string of horses! When that happened and the black powder smoke clouds rolled over the still tied and frantic horses because of the intense fighting going on all around them, along with flying blood and snot from the two dead Indians, they spooked, broke their tie ropes and bolted off onto the adjacent prairie and into the fast-breaking dawn!
Then a lone wolf could be heard howling from out on the prairie somewhere over all the commotion going on at the trappers’ campsite, as a deathly quiet silence settled over that camp as the last Indian attacking the men or trying to get at their horses, joined the Cloud People!
It was then that Adam York yelled, “Is everyone alright?” “I am alright,” said Arnold York, “and I can see Alex trying to reload one of his pistols so he is OK,” he continued. “Caster is dead,” said his friend Jim Tweedle, “but I am alright.” “I still have my hair,” said Andrew York, “and I can see White Eagle still trying to reload his pistol.” “I am OK,” said Iron Hand, as he was in the process of tossing the two dead and partially burned Indians out from his campfire, and pulling his cooking iron out from the still-steaming body of the Indian that had impaled himself but later died from an Iron Hand-administered broken neck...
“You Yorks need to saddle up what horses we have left and go after the ones who broke their tie down ropes and fled during the heat of the battle. We can’t afford to lose a single horse,” said Iron Hand as he bodily picked up another dead Indian and tossed him away from his campfire seating area.
“Come on, Guys. Iron Hand is right. We have to get all of our horses back or we can’t get all of our furs to St. Louis,” said Adam. With that, the York brothers dug out their saddles from their lean-tos, saddled up on the remaining and still-tied horses and disappeared out into the dawn looking for their still hopefully hobbled and nearby now-feeding horses. As they did, Jim Tweedle and Iron Hand picked up Robert Caster, removed the spear still thrust through his body and laid him off to one side. In the meantime, White Eagle, now with his pistol reloaded, was gathering up and tying off all the Indians’ horses standing around that he could catch. About an hour later, Iron Hand could hear a number of horses approaching their campsite. Grabbing his since-reloaded Hawken and now wearing a brace of fully loaded pistols, he waited to see who was coming into camp. Soon he could see a number of familiar pack and riding horses coming back into camp followed by the four York brothers herding them along.
“We got every damn one of our horses back, plus three belonging to those damn killing Indians,” said Alexander York. “However, that tall Indian with the badly scarred face got into the river bottom and before we could kill him, disappeared like a gust of wind.” With that, the Yorks lit down and commenced re-hobbling all of their stock and tying them up to a makeshift rope corral.
Then all of a sudden the Yorks stopped what they were doing and looked over into their camp at Iron Hand. Since the fight, he had come down from his killing emotions and was now hard at work. Not quite believing what they were seeing, the Yorks walked back into their camp to find hot coffee boiling away, fresh horse meat now roasting away on cooking stakes, two Dutch ovens baking biscuits, and all 12 of the dead Indians carted off and stacked into a pile outside their main camp area…
“What the hell?” said an amazed Adam York.
Without missing a beat, Iron Hand looked up from his cooking and said, “What is the problem, Adam? You men have to eat and since one Indian’s horse was killed outright in the battle, White Eagle and I butchered him up and now we have fresh meat to eat since none of you brought back anything except a mess of horses and I always make biscuits because everyone likes them. So we had a little action this morning and except for Robert, we all survived. The way I see it, we still have a long ways to go to get to St. Louis and a man cannot travel on an empty gut. So, breakfast is ready if any of you care to join White Eagle and me, but you best get to it before it is all gone. White Eagle and I have developed a monster-sized hunger after this morning’s excitement, so the four of you had best hurry afore it is all gone…”
It was amazing how hungry all those men were, especially in light of losing one of their own in the fight and almost all of the rest of them being killed as well. But that was the frontier and ‘here today and gone tomorrow’ always seemed to be the mantra of the day, and that was now the case for their friend Robert Caster...
(Author’s Note: Robert Caster’s unmarked grave, based on the written history of the area, except for a large pile of stones placed there to prevent the wolves and bears from digging him up, is still visible in that grove of cottonwood trees to this very day over 100 years later. I know this because while working in that state as a Special Agent for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service’s Division of Law Enforcement in 1975 and aware of that area’s history, I chanced upon it after an hour of searching in the described river bottom and spent a few ‘quiet’ moments with Mountain Man Robert Caster…)
Once the men were finished with their breakfast and knowing that if the 12 dead Indians did not return soon, someone would be out looking for them, so they quickly went about their business at hand. As Iron Hand and White Eagle dug Robert Caster’s grave next to their campsite, the other men gathered up rocks for placement over the dead trapper’s grave so the wolves and bears would not dig him up. Knowing the Indians would do the same when it came to digging up the dead man if they figured the stones were a gravesite, several of the men gutted out the Indian’s dead horse and placed its guts in a covering fashion over that pile of stones. Then they cut up the dead Indian’s horse into pieces and placed those over the pile of stones as well. When they were finished, the gravesite just looked like a pile of dead horse parts and hopefully would garner no more attention from searching Indians other than a passing glance. It worked…
Although now late in the morning, the men loaded all of their gear onto their horses and left the area quickly. Once
again, Tweedle took the lead, followed by White Eagle who was now responsible for leading and trailing the Arikara Indians’ horses, and the rest of the men fell in behind, now trailing longer pack strings because Caster was no longer among them to trail his share.
For the next two weeks, the trappers hustled their pack strings in a slightly southeasterly direction as they followed the Missouri River in an attempt to throw off any Arikara Indian followers looking for them after their earlier recent battle further to the north, in which a large number of their ‘kin’ had been killed and left in a pile for the critters to partake...
Late one afternoon, the trappers came upon a small herd of buffalo resting along the Missouri River breaks and since it had been a long day, Adam York killed a cow buffalo so the men could have some fresh meat for their supper. As the rest of the trappers held up their travels, Iron Hand and Arnold York cut out steaks and back straps from the buffalo and loaded the slabs of meat onto two of their stouter packhorses. Just as the men started to head for the Missouri River breaks and set up their camp for the evening, they found themselves being quickly surrounded by 23 whooping, yelling insults and making obscene hand gestures, Sioux Indians. Apparently they had heard Adam York shoot and kill the cow buffalo and had come over to investigate. When they did and discovered a string of valuable horses loaded with packs of furs and only guarded by six trappers and a young Indian boy, they quickly surrounded their ‘lucky find’.
Suspecting a fight being close at hand, each trapper bailed off his horse and standing behind their individual horses, prepared to fight to the death if necessary. When they did, Iron Hand, having used Old Potts’s rule of making sure the first horse in a trapper’s pack string was carrying an extra rifle and at least two pistols in holsters, grabbed a pistol from his pack animal and handed it to White Eagle, who was now standing by his ‘father’s’ side.
“Here, ‘son’, take this extra pistol and now you have two. I don’t know what tribe these Indians are from but if they are more Arikara, they will kill you in a heartbeat since you are a Sioux and they are a nation of Indians that are hated by the Arikara. Save the last shot for youself if we lose this fight because what they will do to you will not be pleasant,” said a worried Iron Hand, because the trappers were so outnumbered and had now been caught out in the open in a defenseless position.
For the next few minutes, the Indians slowly circled the trappers who were now bunched up in the middle of the circle in a defensive fighting position expecting the worst. Then the band of Indians stopped circling the trappers, seeing they were prepared to fight for what was theirs and just sat there in a big circle looking on at their trapped ‘prey’. Then one of the Indians rode his horse forward a few feet towards the trappers, stopped and then began speaking in a loud tone of voice directing his words at the trapped men. When he did, Iron Hand thought he must be the leader of the group of Indians confronting the trapped trappers and figured when the shooting started, he would single out that man and kill him on the spot. Iron Hand so figured that if he did, and knowing how the Indians hated getting into a battle and losing their leader, would many times retire from the field after suffering such a loss. Retire from the field of battle because the Indians considered the loss of a leader a very bad sign. Laying his Hawken over the saddle of his horse, Iron Hand took a clear bead on the Indian talking to the circle of trapped trappers and held it there waiting for the Indians to make their move. As Iron Hand did, he was all of a sudden surprised to see White Eagle riding his horse into his ‘line of fire’ that he was holding on the Indian doing all the talking!
With that, Iron Hand froze over seeing his new son riding out to meet with the Indian leader. Then he really hunkered down and took a deadly bead with his rifle on the Indian to whom White Eagle was riding towards in case he made any kind of a deadly move in the direction of his new son! Reining up alongside the Indian leader, Iron Hand could see White Eagle was speaking with the man. For the longest time, the two conversed with each other and then White Eagle turned his horse around and slowly rode back towards the ring of his trapper friends.
Dismounting, White Eagle proudly walked over to his father and said, “Father, they are from the mighty Sioux Nation. Because I could understand what their chief was saying, I figured they were a band of my people and since none of you speak Sioux, I took it upon myself to talk to him. I hope that was alright with you.”
“They say we are trespassing on their lands and killing their game without being allowed to do so. They also say they will fight the white man trappers unless they pay for walking on the ancestral lands of the mighty Sioux and killing his buffalo. Chief “Ten Bears” says we must pay in horses if we want to live and continue on our way. Plus, he says he sees that we are not the friends of the hated Arikaras because he sees that we have taken some of their horses. I told him that we are not friends with the hated Arikaras and that we took their horses after we killed many of them in battle. When I said those words, he seemed pleased but he said we must still pay to be on the lands of the Sioux. He also said we will not be allowed to pass unless we pay in horses. He says we all will be killed if we do not listen to his words and wants to know why the mighty white man sends a boy to speak to the mighty Chief Ten Bears instead of showing a man to talk. So I told him that I came of my own will because I am the only one who speaks their language and that is what a Sioux warrior would do. That seemed to please him. Then I told him that we would give them horses in order to peacefully pass through their lands,” said White Eagle in a calm tone of voice, like what he had just done was nothing out of the ordinary.
“White Eagle, we need all of our horses if we are to take all of our furs to St. Louis,” said Iron Hand, now perplexed over what his son had just promised. By now the other trappers from their group had gathered around to hear White Eagle’s words and just shook their heads in disbelief over his offer of horses, which would leave them desperately short of the needed pack animals.
Then White Eagle said, “Father, I am leading a string of 11 Arikara horses which are not carrying a single pack of furs. I figured in order to pass, we could give all of those horses we captured in battle and that would make Chief Ten Bears very happy and then he would allow us to safely pass. Besides, that way he and his warriors could go back to his village with enemy horses and count many coups in the eyes of his villagers. That is why I agreed to give them horses that we do not need. Did I do wrong, Father?”
For the longest time, Iron Hand just stood there dumbfounded over what his 11-year-old son had just done. Then he realized if Ten Bears was a man of his word, the trappers could safely proceed along their way and only lose 11 horses for which they had little use anyway other than selling them once they arrived in St. Louis… Looking over at the rest of his party, all Iron Hand could see was relief and big smiles over what White Eagle had just, in his 11 young years of thinking, negotiated with a fierce warrior such as the renowned Sioux Chief Ten Bears.
The next thing Chief Ten Bears saw was a young Sioux ‘warrior’ leading 11 Arikara horses towards him. However, as he did, Iron Hand kept his Hawken ‘tuned in’ on Chief Ten Bears in case he was not a man of his word. If his word was not good, Iron Hand figured his aim with his Hawken would be and in that case, would make sure the chief never ever again negotiated with any trappers under such trying circumstances.
Chief Ten Bears took the lead rope from the hands of White Eagle and then reached across his saddle and gave the young Sioux ‘warrior’ facing him a typical ‘hand and arm’ shake out of respect for the boy’s courage in the face of superior numbers. Then with a yell of success, Chief Ten Bears and his 22 warriors thundered off towards the east, leading a string of 11 Arikara horses and a story to tell the elders back in the village. Little did Chief Ten Bears realize that he had just missed joining the Cloud People only because of his honorable and good word spoken to a young man on a warm day out on the boundless prairie.
That evening around their campfire, the trappe
rs celebrated their good luck in having a young White Eagle in their midst. Little did the trappers realize that in White Eagle’s mind, since he had already slain a hated enemy in battle, he did nothing more than what was expected of a Sioux warrior. Sitting around the campfire that evening after supper, Iron Hand also realized that his son of just 11 ‘summers’ was already in his eyes, coming of age.
Another month of hard travel without any more trials and tribulations other than a few horse wrecks and another dousing rain from a late summer thunderstorm, found the men about to enter the famed western ‘jumping off’ city of St. Louis!
Since the men had arrived so late in the evening at their destination, they chose to camp their last day of travel along the Missouri River. There the men bathed in its waters and then retired to their camp, as Iron Hand prepared their last meal on the trail after a long and dangerous journey. That evening, the trappers feasted on staked venison, hot Dutch oven biscuits, coffee, and later on, drank the last of their rum from Fort Union as they celebrated the end of a long, dangerous and hard trail of travel. However, because of the excitement the next day would bring, the men got little sleep as they sat around their campfire, smoked their pipes and visited over their many experiences and ‘pratfalls’ as Mountain Men trappers in the wilds of the frontier.
